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Love and Caregiving

November 15, 2024 //
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Yesterday was… difficult. My Traveling Partner was in pain after PT the previous day and feeling really uncomfortable and cross with the world. Understandable, and honestly, I generally wouldn’t mention it in any specific way, but the results affected me quite directly. The peace of my morning was quickly wrecked, and before midday I was seriously wondering if I’m even cut out for being in a relationship or enduring cohabitation at all. It was that kind of day.

… Caregiving is hard…

I love (adore) my Traveling Partner with an abiding passion that can be described pretty accurately as “ridiculous”. It makes no damned sense that I love him so. Hard days are hard. Bad moods feel…bad. Hurt feelings hurt. Love isn’t some magical effortless fairytale condition that leaps from eye contact to happily ever after. There are verbs involved. Effort. Real work. Personal growth over time. Compromises and changes. Fucking hell, it’s an unreasonable bit of work involved in deepening and maintaining intimacy, especially under trying circumstances. G’damn it’s worth it though, and most of the time that’s obvious.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The day ended pretty well, though my beloved was still cross and miserable. We talked over the things that mattered. We sorted some stuff out. We called it a night in a good place with each other, in spite of his continued pain and discomfort. It’s a new day, today. A new chance to begin again. Love is worth the effort we make.

I stare into the foggy autumn darkness. It’s awhile yet until daybreak, but the work day begins pretty soon. I lace up my boots and add gloves and a scarf. It’s chilly this morning. I’ve got my cane and my headlamp. I finish my coffee. It’s time to begin again. Again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5

What About Time?

October 25, 2024 //
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My timing is off this morning. I reached the trailhead too late to get a walk in before work. Disappointing. It’s a cold morning. I can walk later, over my lunch break, I guess. Where did the time even go, I wonder? I feel as if perhaps I’ve simply been moving slower, or didn’t account for needing to stop to put gas in the car. Something. Or maybe something else.

I’m mildly amused with myself and also a bit aggravated. I feel as though I am “distracted”, but as a state of being rather than a momentary condition. I don’t know what to do about it. My thoughts bounce and jitter, scraps and fragments, incomplete and inconsequential. It doesn’t bode well for the work day ahead.

I think about the weekend, instead. I’d like to paint. No studio. No room for it right now; my Traveling Partner has his new watchmaker’s lathe and it’s assorted parts and tools spread out on the dining table, being patiently cleaned up, assembled, and put to various uses for the first time. It’s a fascinating and delightful vintage tool, and I’m tickled to see it. No resentment over it, at all, but there is no room on that table for spreading out pastels and art supplies for work of a very different sort, and I seriously doubt any good would come of getting the delicate machine works of the lathe dusted with various pigments. lol I sit quietly thinking about where else I could go, and regretting that I don’t yet have a proper plein air setup ready. Last time I thought about it, I thought to myself “soon enough”… And clearly I was incorrect. lol

I sigh quietly and feel a pang of sorrow. I’d laugh about this with my Dear Friend and commiserate over the many untimely inconveniences of life, but she’s gone now. G’damn that sucks. Tears fill my eyes and I snarl at them dismissively.

At my last therapy visit, my therapist calmly noted that I “don’t really need therapy at this point”, and that I am “simply very sensitive and feel things very deeply”. He pointed out that I have the tools I need to handle most circumstances, and that although I have PTSD to deal with, it’s less a matter of acute mental illness and more an assortment of manageable concerns that are part of living my life. While it feels good to hear that, I guess, it’s also frustrating in the way any “disability” can be. It feels limiting and a bit “unfair”. He’s very correct about one thing that sticks with me; paying to see him and talk for an hour can’t replace the joy and connection of time spent with a dear friend.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I remind myself to reach out to old friends and stay caught up and connected.

…I remind myself to begin again, while there’s time.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, loneliness, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being

Purpose and Gratitude

October 4, 2024 //
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I woke to a peculiar morning. It was past daybreak. Past dawn. Past the time the sunrise would have brought on the new day. I woke to a most peculiarly beige-infused sky… everything beige. The sand. The sea. The sky. It was… weird. I didn’t know what to make of it at all, and I snapped a couple pictures of the view of the western horizon from the balcony… that look completely ordinary on my camera.

No color adjustments, the pictures look… pink? Mauve? Equally strange, but not at all the color I saw with my naked human eyes, nor how they rendered on my camera.

I tried to find a filter or adjustment after-the-fact that might show the scene more the way I saw it, with limited success.

This is pretty close to what I saw, only even the water of the bay was the same orange-y beige of the sky.

It was strange. Very strange. It threw me off my expectations of the day, for sure. It didn’t last. By the time I made coffee, and made a short trip down to the hotel’s meager “breakfast bar” (a counter with some cereal and instant oatmeal, an air-pot of hot coffee, and a small fridge with yogurt in it), things looked more or less ordinary enough, with a rainy mist rolling in from the sea and showers in the forecast.

…Now I feel rather as if I “don’t know what to think”, which is quite an odd sensation…

I woke feeling rested after my wakeful time during the night. My dreams were rich and interesting. I woke feeling inspired and eager to feel the soft dry sticks of pastels between my fingers (although, for safety, I wear finger cots to prevent cadmium, cobalt, or chromium pigments from soaking into my skin). Seems a good day for it. (For which I am grateful, since it is one of the reasons I came to this place equipped thusly.)

It’s not a fancy hotel, but it suits the purpose.

My Traveling Partner pinged me a good-morning greeting before I woke. I returned it after he’d gone back to bed. He misses me. I miss him too. I am appreciative of my solitude – but also of the opportunity to miss my partner. Caregiving is hard, and tempers flare when perhaps they ought not. I know I could do better. I fucking love that man – and I mean to do better to treat him with love, patience, and kindness than I sometimes manage to do. It’s easy to take him for granted. It’s easy to be angry with circumstances and fail to differentiate circumstances from the man. Having some time apart reminds me how much I do yearn to be in his good company, how much I love his humor and his tenderness – and how hard it must be to be his best self under these trying circumstances, at all. This shit is hard. Caregiving is hard. Being the one having to accept caregiving is equally hard (and emotionally probably harder). I wish him well from afar, and pause to feel all the love we’ve shared over these many years. I’ve been with him now longer than with any one other human being – friend, lover, or family member. (Though I’ve had some friendships longer, those have endured quite a lot of distance between conversations and shared space – it’s not at all the same.) I left my parents’ home when I was 14. I’ve been with my Traveling Partner now, some 15 years. Wow. I know, I know – it’s not uncommon for monogamous folk who travel life’s path with a single partner they met when quite young to be together many decades; this still feels incredibly special and enduring to me. I’m grateful.

I’ll eat my yogurt (blueberry), drink my coffee, and walk on the beach before it begins raining seriously, then return to the room to paint in the diffuse gray light of this rainy day… a very pleasing way to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, inspiration, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being

A Moment With My Thoughts

October 1, 2024 //
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Another quiet morning, aside from the ringing in my ears. I could do without that, but tinnitus is most vexing when I focus on it, so I turn my attention elsewhere. Inward. It’s a chilly morning. Definitely autumn and I am grateful for the sweater, and my fleece. I sit with my coffee and my thoughts.

… Just a couple more work shifts separated by an evening at home, and I’ll be heading to the coast for a much-needed break from… “everything”. Hilariously, to get this much-needed rest, this opportunity to recover from day-to-day exhaustion, I’ll have to exhaust myself further first, to ensure I’ve adequately prepared for my Traveling Partner’s comfort. Enough fresh towels available. Snacks and things within reach. Fresh tissues and such. Freshly made bed and clean linens. His laundry done and put away….

…Oh, and anything I need for myself…

… G’damn, I am so fucking tired. lol

Yesterday evening, as I happily prepared to gently lay newly arrived pastels in various hues of green into their places in my pastel case, I opened the case and… a tray stuck, then unexpectedly released and fell askew, dumping the fragile sticks. Several fell against the hard edge of the case, others to the firm surface of the wood tabletop. They don’t take well to such rough treatment and several of the delicate beautiful sticks broke into pieces. I suppose it’s no great tragedy, but my eyes filled with tears and my heart with disappointment and hurt. My fault. Broken things. I fought crying. It’s not as if the damage rendered them less useful at all…it just pained me to see them less than perfect, and by my own hand. My Traveling Partner was tender and supportive. He knows I’ve got strange baggage to do with such things. The evening finished quietly, without madness or hysterics. Win.

…Hell, I’d even forgotten about it, until just now, and I’m okay – that’s real progress!

I sit awhile with my thoughts. I watch the traffic on the highway beyond the trailhead parking lot. There won’t be daylight for walking before work this morning, but I came to this place anyway. It’s on the way to the office and lacks the glare of office lighting. lol I find a few quiet moments in a parking lot preferable to those same quiet moments in the office. (I could walk… I’ve got my headlamp. Taking “time for me” takes a variety of forms. This is one; just these few quiet solitary moments writing and reflecting.)

I catch myself missing my partner as though I had already gone. I think of him sleeping (I hope that he is) and tenderly wish him well. My heart is full of love and yearning. I love him and that experience is a huge part of my life. Has been for… going on 15 years now. Wow. The time seems subjectively so much shorter. My longest intimate relationship over a lifetime. He’s stuck with me through an impressive assortment of circumstances and challenges. I’m grateful and… something else profound and heartfelt and joyful that I haven’t got a word for. Interesting. Maybe I can find the colors to describe it somewhere in my pastel case? lol

… I think it would be nice to get a short walk in, in spite of beating the sun to the trail this morning. I reach for my cane and my headlamp. It’s a good time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being

Do Not Disturb

September 24, 2024 //
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Well shit, yesterday went sideways abruptly after what had been a very pleasant day. Tempers and hurt feelings flared. Perspectives on individual experiences clashed. Unmet and unstated needs collided with the force only human emotions can create in such a short time. “Unpleasant” doesn’t even begin to describe it. I said things that were incredibly hurtful and will be difficult to apologize for adequately, if that’s even possible (and I am ashamed of having lost my temper so severely). He said some terrible things I can’t unhear. We hurt each other’s hearts – and the appalling thing about it is that we are each the person the other turns to for love, support, understanding, care, consideration… all the things. The person we hurt so deeply is our fucking partner.

… I didn’t sleep much last night…

Even after things calmed down and some sort of apologies were offered, the pain lingered. I went to bed unhappy. I don’t doubt he did as well. The house was quiet when I woke. My heart was heavy. Still is. Can we come back from this? Tears well up with the question every time it crosses my mind. I behaved appallingly.

I make my Traveling Partner’s morning coffee, put out a fresh glass of water, and a glass of iced tea, with a couple of fig bars to start his morning when he wakes. I hope he sees these things as the gesture of love I mean for them to be. I can’t imagine my life without him…

I’m not sure how we got to “this place”, and I sure don’t want to stay here. I remember a very different “us”, even quite recently (although it’s hard to stay mindful of how recent it was and that these changes are the result of injury, infirmity, and legitimate struggle, that truly will pass). I can do better. I’m confident he can too, and even that he means to. The medications he’s on make him more volatile and less clearheaded (no less so while he tapers off). The pain and fatigue I’m struggling with shorten my fuse and I rather stupidly try to avoid burdening him with information about my condition (that he actually needs to know to do his best to support me as much as he is able).

… I failed us both last night…

Fuck. The refrains of annoying 70’s break-up songs play on a loop in my thoughts. I snarl back at the unwelcome “programming”. I push them aside, because the feeling of hopeless and wistful futility that wells up is really terrible. I put on actual music (grateful for the technology that puts it within reach). The most positive thing I can think of for the circumstances… The Monkees, “A Little Bit You A Little Me”. Nailed it. I listen to Davy Jones singing words that remind me of my partner’s own pleas for me to “talk it out”. There’s wisdom there and hope. Don’t we deserve that for – and from – each other?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The path isn’t always smooth. I’m still glad we’re walking it together – I’d be pretty spectacularly lost without my Traveling Partner. I hope he still feels the same about me.

We’re in this together.

There are apologies and amends to make. Work to do, and to do better. My results clearly vary… And I need more practice to become the person I most want to be. I’ve got to begin again. I hope he’ll continue this journey with me.

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Categories anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Frustration, grief, health, loneliness, Love, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Big 5
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